I had planned on skipping work to attend the local 9/12 Taxes Are For Socialist Reds/Killing An Arab/White Power/Mispeled Postur/Make Baby Beck Cry rally*, but the Merry Old Land of Nod remained naught but a faraway illusion last night and now my skull, full of icky consciousness, is screaming in silent terror, all thanks to a certain person who shall remain nameless for her own protection not from my inaudible yet righteous scowling clear across the continent which, though considered quite formidable in most circles, is mere fluffy bunny child's play compared to this black pit of blasphemous horror, but from this black pit of blasphemous horror, so utterly blasphemous and horrible, it should be said twice, which it was, nearly thrice, as it were, so good on me:
Every time I see Kissinger I think of what I heard Mami VanDoren say about him. Supposedly he wore stinky and holey socks to bed. The mental image of Kissinger naked with foul socks is enough to make me wish you had a picture of Chimpy and his pet goat.Wow. What did I ever do to you?
"Two hundred an hour for two girls is the most I'll pay. What's that? Oh no, that is acceptable. I've got a pocket full of napalm and I'm not afraid to use it."**
*Did you see how I posted this at 9:12 on 9/12? Solidarność!***
**Pretend you can hear my bad Kissinger accent. Merci.***
***Let these foreign words be a warning, patriots! Ever vigilant!